Ending Greywatch
by Ihsan997
Summary: In the aftermath of the Legion's defeat, there was a brief period of peace on Azeroth. As one leader of a modest warband learns, that was merely the calm before the storm; betrayal, prejudice, and old hatreds simmer beneath the surface, and it's only s matter of time before they boil over. F orc x M orc; warning for character death on both sides. 7 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Much of our behavior is merely an attempt to seek warmth."

Embers broke off of the firewood and flitted up into the air. There was no breeze on the edge of Runewood - at least, not any movement of air pressure he could feel. Yet the embers still floated away from the fire, twirling and dancing and marking little red trials in the darkness as he watched with his comrades. It was almost hypnotic.

He stirred, shifting on the rock he'd dig up to sit on as he ate. The roasted boar shank tingled in his mouth with its heat as if answering his statement in the affirmative.

Straight across from him, she watched. They mostly ate in silence, enjoying the crackling of the fire between them and the brief respite it provided from the clamor of his squad's woodland camp. Still, he could tell that she was about to challenge him. He knew her too well.

"Some people prefer colder climates," she replied after chewing more of the succulent meat. "Look at the Frostwolves."

The way her eyebrows arched was less mischevious than usual. Perhaps she was just arguing for the sake of arguing. He didn't mind. "Putting politics aside...even they seek warmth. Their homeland was known as 'Frostfire' for a reason. Their camps were known for the bonfire in the center, just like ours."

She hasn't finished yet, to his delight. "That's only one aspect of life. Some people like other things cold: their food, a dip in a cold lake...their burrow."

He noticed how her lip curled up over her lower canines at the last comment. If she was enjoying this more than he was, then he'd feel jealous. Their third wheel, the most educated of the goblins, pretended not to be paying attention. But he didn't care - nobody forced her to sit there.

He spoke gradually. "Food creates body heat from digestion; even cold food gives us a warm feeling inside."

"Okay."

"A dip in a cold lake freezes the surface of our skin, but we only know that feeling because it contrasts with the natural body heat inside. Then, when we jump out wrap ourselves up, the usual warmth of bearskin feels all the better..." He forced nonchalance, though he had a feeling she'd see through it. "Especially when skinny dipping."

"Specious, but okay," she laughed. The poor goblin stiffened up and chewed faster in an attempt to block out the conversation.

"As for a cold burrow...nobody wants that. People who go home to an empty bed just say that in denial."

"Well, I'm done! Good night!" Gnugs, their goblin tinker, said while leaving her empty bowl at the campfire unattended.

They both had the common courtesy not to laugh as she hurried back to her sleeping spot beneath a mulberry bush. Once she'd left, the two of them finished their food in relative silence, though most of his other troops hadn't laid down for the evening yet. Consequently, there was a sort of outer barrier of noise around them, and he spent a few moments staring into the fire after their meal in order to take his mind off of the activity to come.

One ember in particular continued to float up and down without actually hitting the ground. Reaching over to the charred grey log it had sparked off from, he held out his big hand and caught the burning flake. As thick as his green skin was, he could still feel the heat on his fingertips as he crushed it.

"This is what all living things fight for...even land is used to create warm spaces to live," he murmured.

He wasn't sure if Ola was still listening since she hasn't finished her food. That was fine; given the pressure he was receiving from all sides, he didn't mind the brief respite.

Briefer than he would have liked.

"Boss," he heard the familiar voice of his cousin say from a part of the camp behind him.

Sighing through his nostrils, he waited for a moment as he tried not to rehash old arguments out of familial respect. When he didn't answer, though, his cousin approached and sat down at the fire. Zyrdax, fresh back from a final cleanup mission on Argus, fidgeted in the spot he'd chosen to sit in. He was clearly irritable and nervous, if still loyal to the chain of command.

Putting diplomacy first, the squad's leader put a hand on Zyrdax's shoulder to reassure the war-hungry grunt. "Our mission is still important," he said quietly, not wanting to reject the request he was expecting in front of the others. "Aunt Greta still needs us on standby for the next week. It has to be done."

Zyrdax bit his lip as if trying very hard to remain quiet, though the younger soldier was simply too jump. "Gutteral, something has come up with Greywatch."

"Half the men and women here have families, Zyrdax."

"But Gutteral-"

"We can take Greywatch, but we'll suffer losses. Our actual mission is just as significant and risks no losses." He turned away from his cousin in an effort to deftly end the conversation. "This tract needs to be defended. We have to be sure that the Alliance doesn't push further than that fort - no more, no less."

"Gutteral, just listen!"

Silence fell over the camp again as a few of his troops took notice of the exchange. He stared at Zyrdax for a few moments, forcing the impatient grunt to look down at the ground deferentially. A subtle glance back at the soldiers in the area sent them back to their business, and he kept quiet without even letting his heart race. He had to maintain order, but at least the upstart was a family member he could push around without causing a grudge.

Once he was sure that his control had been asserted, he turned back to his cousin. "What's this about?" he asked tersely.

For a few seconds, Zyrdax stared at the ground and pouted. The youth had been pushing for a raid on the town all week, but he wasn't the type to beat a dead horse. This must be different.

"We have a situation. There's some lady here at the camp - she's dehydrated and all. Says her man got kidnapped by a bunch of humans."

He leaned in at the same time that Ola did. "Where is she? I didn't hear anything. Did you check her for disguises?"

"Yes-"

"Corruption? Illusion?"

"Yes, she's legit, a Rageroar refugee. And legit freaking out."

"I didn't hear any commotion."

"We found her outside of camp...Gutteral, can you just talk to her?"

He pursed his lips and considered the sudden disturbance. He hadn't faced the issue of lost travelers previously, but he couldn't let on to the troops that he didn't know what to do. "Bring her here, but stand behind her while I talk to her. If she turns out to be a Legion remnant or a turncoat, you take her out fast."

"Gutteral-"

"This is recon, we don't have reinforcements; any risk to any one of us is critical. I give the signal, you strike. Her. Down."

The way he lowered his voice instead of raising it at the last part startled Zyrdax, and his cousin hurried off, garnering a few concerned looks from a few more grunts milling about. Not wanting the rumor mill to start, Gutteral leaned to one side, catching the eye of one of the Tauren. The bull man approached on cue, kneeling down to receive instructions.

"Stand watch at the edge of camp. If anybody follows this wanderer in, of any race or background, kill them on sight and sound the alarm."

"Yes, boss," the furry man replied unquestioningly, swiftly taking his leave.

The camp rustled, and he could faintly hear the sound of voices in the vicinity. If the traveler had been panicked, then the others must have calmed her down by then. Ola remained in her spot across from him, the two of them saying nothing while waiting. Eventually, the sound of sniffling became clearer, and he could see Zyrdax and another grunt leading a diminutive young woman toward his campfire. She didn't appear hurt, but she shook with hunger and wore unwashed clothes.

"Do we have any left?" he asked Ola quietly.

"Yes, we have a bit of bread crust and pheasant gristle left."

"Alright, let's get this to her."

He reached out and scraped the leftovers into a clay bowl, laying it down where he intended to let the visitor sit. Despite being a stranger, she seemed relieved to be there, and most of her tears had dried. "Sit," he ordered, and he didn't have to tell her twice. Her eyes fell to the bowl hungrily. "Eat, and make it fast."

"Thank you so much, mister," she replied with the accent of an uneducated bumpkin.

She practically inhaled the leftover food, and when they gave her fresh water to drink, she began to choke and cough from the speed at which she consumed it all. Gutteral watched in silence, waiting for her to finish; he doubted that he'd get any sleep before this was sorted out.

Once she was finished, he tried to figure her out. "Why are you out here?" he asked.

Still shaking lightly, she appeared to be a disorganized mess both outside and in. "My name is Koleg Mar-"

"Why are you out here?" he asked more insistently.

"I-I, yes. Right. We're Clan Rageroar, what's left of it. We're refugees-"

"Doing what?"

"We're refugees, the Alliance destroyed us."

"Everybody knows that; spirits avenge you. But WHY are you out here?"

The disheveled young woman looked to Ola for support, but found a more outwardly stern expression than what Gutteral was giving her and gave up. "Well, we wanted to settle here," she said with a wavering voice, more from the squad leader's scrutiny than whatever crisis she'd experienced previously. "We were in Valdisdall with the vrykul there, but we heard that Runewood had been claimed for the Horde."

"That was us," Gutteral interjected, "as well as a blood elf contingent. They left to the southwest, though."

Her eyes widened. "You killed the Bone...carvers? Boneweavers? Bone...whisperers?"

"Whatever you call those overgrown humans, yes; we left the children and elderly in custody of the Valarjar emissaries. None of the others were left alive." Her eyes lit up for a moment, but he remained stiff-lipped to quell any false hope. "This isn't a place for civilians. You shouldn't have come here yet."

She looked like he'd slapped her across the face. "But we don't have anywhere to go! Our clan was ravaged by the Alliance! We heard the Broken Isles are unclaimed by either faction! We didn't know there was fighting here."

"Even if decimated, the Rageroar still count in the low dozens; maybe even a hundred. Not all of your remnants could be here."

"No, yes! See, this is the thing!"

"Calm down."

"There was just ten of us; we're trying to start multiple settlements all over. That's when the Gilneans found us!"

"So you ventured into disputed territory with only ten people?" he asked, almost in disbelief.

"No - yes. Please, can't you just listen? They took my friends, my fiancé - all of them are gone. I hid in a log and covered myself in dirt so the wolfmen wouldn't smell me, but the others were taken. Those Gilneans are going to eat them!"

"Worgen don't eat other sentients," he replied, raising a hand when she tried to continue ranting. "Your people tried to find a new home; you failed. That's life. You can stay here with us for three days."

"No!" she wailed.

"Beyond that, we'll do our best to get you back to Valdisdall, provisions and all. You can't stay in a place like that."

"No, please-"

"But we have our orders, and we were specifically told not to engage unless Greywatch attacks our forces first."

"We're citizens!"

"You acted privately, of your own volition, and Warchief Sylvanas isn't responsible for your actions. We can't let open war reignite so soon after the Legion's defeat because of just nine kidnapped travelers."

"Only eight - my fiancé's brother was killed when he tried to fight back!"

At that, Gutteral did pause, but he forced himself to speak lest she continue. "Well...we'll note down the description of these brigands, but we can't hold the whole Alliance responsible for what a handful of criminals have done."

"They were in military uniform!"

"Their commanders may or may not be aware - Zyrdax, get this woman a blanket and a place to sleep."

"Yes, boss," his cousin replied in a firm voice, though disappointment shined in the young man's eyes as he took the wayfarer Koleg by the arm.

"They bore the insignia of the house of Greymane!"

Gutteral snorted through his nose. Subtle, and barely noticeable, but it was enough for Zyrdax to stop in his tracks. Even Ola noticed the slight shift in the usually stoic raider's demeanor, and Gutteral at least had the consolation of knowing that he could still exercise control of his rowdy troops with a simple noise or gesture.

Koleg, for her part, didn't seem reassured, and her face twisted as if she was experiencing an unvoiced panic attack. Zyrdax didn't let go, but he looked at Gutteral as if making one last request.

Not for either of their sakes, but more out of a sense of duty, he waved for his cousin to let the lost traveler go. Koleg slumped down into her sitting spot again, hugging herself and staring at her torn cloth shoes. Zyrdax remained behind her, though by that point, they were all fairly certain that she wasn't a spy or charlatan.

Pulling an unburnt stick from their kindling, Gutteral handed it to the distraught young woman. "Draw it," he ordered.

She looked at the stick in her hands in confusion. "I...huh?"

He worked hard to conceal his apprehension - not at what she'd said, but at the sense of impending overreaction if he'd heard what he thought he had. "Draw the insignia you saw," he ordered in a low voice, frightening her with his tone. Had he yelled, he probably would have unnerved her (and his cousin) less.

"O-okay."

Slowly, Koleg began to cut lines into the dirt around the campfire. She messed up a few times and had to start over, but line by line, curve by curve, she drew a roughly accurate, if crude, insignia worn by members and retainers of the House Of Greymane. By the time she finished, her hands were shaking again.

Ola and Zyrdax continued staring at the insignia for a moment, as did another random grunt passing by. Gutteral, for his part, felt not only anger at what he was seeing, but fear. Fear of losing control, more of himself than his troops. Fear of what he would have to do, and what he would actually do. Fear of his aunt when she learned of what he'd do. Fear of repercussions for their whole family over what he was about to do. Fear that he couldn't stop it all because he was doing the same thing any other hot-blooded soldier would do.

He hummed deep in his throat and continued looking at the insignia even as the others all looked at him. He knew they were wondering what came next even more than he was. He didn't wish for them to suffer the same apprehension he was.

"Zyrdax," he said lowly but firmly. "Get this woman a blanket and a place to sleep. At dawn...we ride."

"Yes, boss," his cousin replied, ushering Koleg away before she could say thank you.

A number of his troops overheard his orders, though the camp thankfully remained quiet. He wanted quiet before the storm he knew would come.

Ola stared at him as the two of them sat for a while longer. The fire crackled and burned, sending more warm embers into the air. The warmth came and went as the flames danced, leaving him with its absence for short periods. He'd have to seek it if he wished to hold onto it.


	2. Chapter 2

An inordinate amount of dust floated up above the trees, obscuring the early morning sunrise in Stormheim. Pebbles vibrated and leapt from the ground, and sand was kicked up, all heralding their approach. Two dozen strong, they tore straight down the trodden path, making no attempt to conceal their presence. Not yet, at least.

Hooves and paws thumped and thundered as they traveled without rest for half the daylight hours, pushing themselves and their mounts to the brink of their stamina in a test of their mettle after the months of inaction since the fall of the Burning Throne. War pigs, kodos, and a single dire wolf scared off every living thing in their path, making no secret that they were no longer on a simple reconnaissance mission.

Forming into a narrow isosceles triangle, they pierced into the woodlands of the far eastern coast of the region, leaving any thoughts of Runewood behind them. Gradually, the beaten path became more even and refined, more cleanly cut tree stumps appeared, and the occasional fence post lined the road (and was subsequently trampled by the kodos). Only past noon did they catch sight of the first watchtower. Relatively new but not built to withstand a full on attack, the fortification seemed to be more for observation than defense. Only a handful of people were visible below it, and the tower itself was empty. An Alliance ballista on the ground was, thankfully, not armed.

Gutteral rode out in front of the group, leaving his sword sheathed but riding high and making a show of the fact that he felt no need to hide his squadron. As he slowed down, so did his troops on the heavier riding animals, and he was able to get a good look at the three Gilnean humans standing in the middle of the road.

Kicking up a bit more dust, he pulled his dire wolf to a halt right in front of them, leaving his troops to stop behind him. Over the tops of the trees, he could already see smoke rising from what must be his destination, but he went through the motions anyway.

While looking over the well-equipped but inexperienced Gilnean footmen, Gutteral spoke back toward his troops. "Sprig," he called back.

"Coming, boss!" one of the goblins replied while leaping from his perch on a kodo's tail. The little green man hurried on foot to Gutteral and saluted. "Ready!"

Gutteral continued looking over the waiting humans even as he leaned down. "I'll speak to you in Orcish; you pretend to translate into Common. Don't let them know that I understand."

"Got it boss."

One of the Gilneans folded his arms over his chest impatiently, causing the other two to instinctively lean back and let their more foolhardy comrade take the lead. He was older, but not by much, and wore unblemished armor which spoke of a creature who hadn't truly been tested previously. If only he knew how hard the raider in front of him was trying to show mercy.

"Greet him."

"My chief conveys his cordial greetings to you!" Spring exclaimed in Common.

"Tone it down."

"Greetings," Sprig said correctively.

"Yeah, like that."

The Gilnean footman looked past them to the amassed soldiers. "Your people have quite the understanding of cordial," he said in a petulant tone.

"Pretend to be translating that," Gutteral whispered.

"Alright, they shouldn't be able to hear us in human form. Their ears are small."

"Good. Ask them if that's the place, where the smoke is rising."

"My chief asks if that smoke over the horizon is rising from a place called Greywatch," Sprig asked in Common.

The two less bold Gilneans balked at the question, though the one in the center proved to be less clever. "That place, and all the land between it and this tower, is the territory of the Alliance. I've not been informed of any diplomatic visits."

"He thinks he's playing hardball," Sprig whispered in Orcish.

"Cute. Tell him that I'm sorry, but this isn't what he's hoping for."

"My chief conveys his apologies, but this isn't an act of diplomacy."

"Tell them that we came to settle a score."

"He's come here for a redress of grievances."

"There are proper channels for that," the macho footman said. "And they don't run through here. Tell your chieftain that I'm sorry, but he's in the wrong place."

"Let's ice this chump, boss!" Sprig whispered in Orcish.

"We don't know if he's guilty, and Koleg hid when her friends were taken, so she can't identify them anyway. We're here for justice, not revenge."

Pompous but smart enough not to show off in front of the others, Sprig climbed up the side of Gutteral's wolf. "You told me they're the same when we were hammered last week, boss," the little man whispered.

"Sprig, not while we're negotiating!" Gutteral growled in a low voice.

"My bad, my bad."

"Are we done here?" the irritatingly courageous Gilnean asked.

"Just one minute," Sprig said in Common. "I don't think we'll get anything useful out of them, boss," he whispered in Orcish.

"Give them the chance to step aside. They don't have any griffins or horses, so we don't need to worry about them."

"My chief has graciously offered you kind fellows the opportunity to stand down," Sprig explained to the humans cheerily.

"Is that so?" the upstart in the center asked petulantly.

"Glad tidings to you! For all you must do is return to your posts and enjoy your day. We shall vouch that you were all out answering the call of nature when we passed through."

As if trying to build tension, the human in the center folded his arms more tightly until the leather grips of his gauntlets stretched. Most of the troops were busy resting and petting their mounts, and one of them was scratching himself, which was about as close as any of them came to caring.

Failing to garner any reaction, the upstart tried to turn up the tension a notch. "Over my dead-"

In one swift motion, Gutteral reached up, unsheathed his sword, and swung downward. Sprig hit the dirt and the two other humans leapt back and grabbed their swords, but their foolish comrade had already made the mistake of trying to dash forward. Gutteral had already re-sheathed his sword by the time the idiot's head had toppled to the ground.

Gutteral just stared at the two survivors for a moment; they thought twice and laid down their arms. Sprig dusted his leather jerkin off and got back up smiling.

"We never saw you," said one of the two Gilneans while they both walked away.

"Pleased to not make your acquaintance!" Sprig said in Common. "Fuckwit," he muttered in Orcish.

Gutteral shook his head in disapproval as the goblin returned to ride the kodo. "Lay off them, those two got the point." He looked back at the others. They didn't know him like Sprig did, or know that Sprig knew him like that, and didn't want them to think they could all speak out of line too. "Move!" he bellowed, jolting them all awake again.

For just over an hour, they rode in silence toward Greywatch. The path became more even, more artificial, less earthen, and the amount of grass decreased. The road was sandier near the fort itself, and a dust cloud began to form around them. Before they even came into clear view of the town's watchers, they could hear the commotion they'd caused among the guards.

In a denser thicket near the end of their journey, Gutteral halted the troops again. Soft underbrush patted them all as they huddled into a circle, and the light breeze above them could no longer be felt. He turned back to address his whole squadron.

"I want to see all of our waterskins on the ground in two groups: half here and half there," he said while dismounting, and the others did as well. "Half goes to our mounts, along with half of our food; I don't want to see anybody touch the other half until this is over."

When he didn't continue, they got the picture and then got to work, including Koleg whom he'd instructed to earn her keep while under their care. The sole figure not working hobbled toward him, leaning on a profane staff as she approached. He waited patiently at the edge of the thicket, waiting for her to join him while he watched his troops get to work.

The weathered warlock, an ex-necrolyte and reformed member of the Shadow Council, stopped her incessant chanting of mantras and looked up at him with milky eyes. "I see their essences beyond their walls," Nolash rasped. "They're not afraid."

"Good. Let them relax and deal with us evenly."

"They won't. They neither fear nor love us, so they don't respect us."

Her words, and the fact that she was most often right, latched onto his fear again. Not fear of the denizens of the fort, but of his own faction when news of what he might have to do reached Orgrimmar. He shook his head and hoped she'd be wrong for once.

"When we brought down Sargeras, I watched retainers for the Houses of Greymane and Wrynn walk next to us as we left Antorus. I will never forget what the Alliance did to my people, but we can't let that influence how we act now. I have to try to negotiate with them first...we have to try."

As frustrating as she could also be motherly and supportive, Nolash shook her head and walked away. "You will fail," the mature Shadowmoon orc said before plopping down under a bush and pulling her hood over her head.

He believed her...but he couldn't let the troops believe her. When he was sure that she was content to stew under the mulberries, he waved over Ola, Zyrdax, and Ukasha, the latter being one of the smallest Tauren under his command but also the meanest-looking. He didn't want to give away their numbers or position and couldn't bring too many followers, so he'd need the few and the best among his troops for the intimidation factor.

"Zyrdax, you maintain order here while we're gone."

"You're going in alone?" his cousin asked incredulously.

"No, we're not going in; we're going to try to reason with them."

Zyrdax didn't display any outward reaction, but the way he remained quiet for a few seconds spoke volumes. "Farewell," he said after a moment, though the way Gutteral glared at him caused him to hurry off to his duty.

Ukasha didn't like to talk, which was preferable, though Ola was even more likely than Sprig to question him. She kept glancing at him as the three of them left the thicket, and he knew he wouldn't be able to dodge the subject for long.

"You're sure about this?" she asked as they walked toward the front wall of the Alliance fort.

"Yes," he replied. He needed her to believe it. "We put the proof on them; if they reject our overtures, then the blame is on them."

She finally stopped looking at him and focused on the edge of the woods at the road. "Okay," she replied. She only ever said that when she meant it, yet the persuasion seemed too easy.

He shook his head as the walls of Greywatch came into view. He had to focus on the task at hand.

Two dwarven riflemen stood atop the wall of the fort, which straddled two mountain ridges; it figured since those people had a habit of digging themselves in. Only two, however, was an odd sign. It was a small number for a fort which once houses Greymane himself. The main gate seemed unimpressively small the closer they approached, and the heavy metal side door creaked loudly as it opened. Gutteral couldn't say he was disappointed; the dilapidated fort was a match for a modestly sized crew like his.

An armored Gilnean wearing none other than the insignia of a royal retainer, not unlike those they'd encountered an hour earlier, cautiously exited through the creaky side door in the fort's wall. The riflemen audibly cocked their weapons as he strode in front of the trio, though Gutteral kept his hands relaxed rather than up like some sort of criminal.

"That's far enough," the Gilnean said in heavily accented Orcish.

Gutteral wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of thinking he'd sprung some sort of surprise. "I hope so," he answered back in Common, giving the human pause. "I'm Gutteral Gar of the Lion's Bane squadron."

"I know who you are," the human replied roughly.

"But you don't know why I'm here."

"I think I do. It can't be a coincidence that our scouts were attacked by your interlopers only three days ago."

"My squad sent no scouts of our own."

"Then we have nothing to discuss," the human replied while turning away.

"Don't make this-" One of the dwarves fired a warning shot into the ground, but Gutteral banked on them not wanting to escalate the conflict any more than he did, and thus he continued. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be," he said, knowing that at least one rifleman would be reloading for at least twenty seconds.

The human continued walking toward the door but turned back one last time. "You're trespassing," he hissed.

"I can bring the rest of my crew here if you want to play it like that," Gutteral said from his spot; he couldn't follow the human without seeming desperate, but the belligerent footman seemed determined not to engage.

The footman stopped at the side door and turned around. "That's a threat. That's just cause."

"Reason with us and I'll take it back."

"No deal. This is our land, so piss off."

"We'll take our citizens off of your hands and your land will be free of us."

"You said they're not yours, you rat fink!" the Gilnean retorted. The human didn't even seem interested in listening; he just wanted an argument.

"I said they're not our scouts, but they are civilians who're citizens of the Horde."

"You mongrels don't have concepts like citizenship and civil society!"

Gutteral put his fists on his hips defiantly. "This is your last chance. Return to us our people or your king will lose this glorified summer resort you call a fort-"

"Move!"

Ola yelled at the same time the second dwarf's rifle fired. She and Ukasha tried to dodge nothing, but Gutteral instinctively crouched downward and gave only his armored head and shoulders to the fort. His left shoulder tingled as a bullet put a sizeable dent into his pauldron but failed to break through.

Feet and hooves shuffled, and almost as if possessed, Gutteral felt his hands reach for his sword and bring the weapon down onto the footman, who'd tried to reach for a blade as well. Metal screeched and blood splattered, but Gutteral couldn't see exactly where his blow had connected because Ola grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away with her. Another bullet shot into the ground near him, but his only focus was pushing his two soldiers ahead of him as they all beat a hasty retreat.

"I warned you!" he shouted into the air, both at the possibly dead or dying footman and himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Gutteral muttered every dirty word he knew in Common as he stomped back to his camp. Every step through the dense underbrush and sparse trees granted him enough time to think of more and more reasons why he should have known better.

He knew it would come to this. He'd never truly doubted it for a second; he'd only been lying to himself to pretend otherwise.

He could hear his troops before he saw them, and he figured that they'd heard the gunshots. Loyal to the very end, they hadn't marched, though they looked quite relieved when they finally got sight of each other. Whether from fatigue or intuition, the riding animals hadn't been startled, but a number of the soldiers were on edge.

His cousin moved to intercept the three first. Zyrdax opened his mouth to speak, but wisely thought against it and merely saluted like the others. Gutteral stopped on a tree stump whereby he had a better view of all of them, and even the loiterers at the back stood at attention. Ola and Ukasha remained behind him, silently indicating that all eyes were to remain forward.

Not wanting to lose an ounce of control over them, Gutteral paused for effect. He'd need their rowdiness to be focused on the enemy, and he'd have to make sure that they didn't falter or go rogue.

"Take all the food that we have left and dump it with the animals," he ordered in a low voice. "Now."

He didn't have to say it twice. All at once, the members of his squadron took the sacks of food and poured out their contents among the war pigs and kodos, though they looked perplexed as they did so. When they were finished, Zyrdax found the courage to speak.

"Chief?" his cousin asked.

Gutteral scowled. "You," he said while pointing toward Koleg, who shrank shyly. "Stay here with our mounts. If you're attacked, they know what to do; just stay back."

"Yes s-sir."

Waiting again for the confused gazes of his troops to fall on him, Gutteral steeled his voice without even raising the volume. "Prepare to fight or prepare to starve," he announced, causing a number of them to wince as if he was threatening them. "All food and water in the area is ready and waiting...it's just behind the walls of that worthless fort. Along with eight of our innocent citizens."

He unsheathed his sword, gripping it with both hands. That was a language all of his followers understood. They waited for him to continue, but he refused to oblige, forcing them to stand awkwardly under the heat of his self-assured stare. He was prepared to hold that position all day if they didn't get it. Thankfully, though, they did.

Zyrdax was the first, pulling out his axe. Ola followed, as did Ukasha. The archers readied their bows, the berserkers pounded their fists together, the rest of the group pulled out what they had, and Nolash finally dropped her narcissism for a moment and stood up.

Finally raising his voice if only slightly, Gutteral caused them all to jump and jolt. "Why do we fight!" he asked.

"For the Horde!" yelled the orcs.

"For the Horde!" yelled the Tauren.

"For the Horde!" yelled the trolls.

"For the Horde!" yelled the goblins.

"For the Horde!" yelled the ogre.

"Fur the herd!" yelled the singular hobgoblin who had a weird speech impediment nobody could pinpoint.

"Go!" Gutteral answered, causing his dire wolf to break from the other mounts, and he leapt atop the animal mid-stride.

He rode, leading them again as he bit back on anger. A part of him wished that he'd just done things this way from the beginning, eschewing any semblance of diplomacy. There was still that voice in the back of his mind telling him that he'd technically done the right thing, but the partially embarrassed anger blinded him to all else.

The others jogged behind him as reasonably well as they could with all their gear, though he did prefer that they not rush anyway. The few minutes back to Greywatch gradually revealed the furor he'd caused; the enemy had taken his comments seriously. The top of the wooden wall was lined with a thick line of more riflemen, and a separate contingent of armored soldiers seemed to be out in front of the gate. It was hard to tell when looking through all the leaves.

Gutteral raised his fist for the others to halt and take cover behind tree roots and rough terrain. They'd been spotted, but the few bullets sent their way were so off-target that the dwarves gave up and just waited. He dismounted and waved over Sprig, and the tiny man hurried to his side.

"You and the others shoot in an arc; focus only on clearing the gate. Don't worry about those atop the wall."

"Sure, chief. Hey! Psst! Get over here!" Sprig hissed to the other archers.

The group of small green people in camouflage leather huddled behind trees and took up their positions. Knocking their bows without creating any noise, they began to fire an uncoordinated volley of arrows at the base of the gate. Metal clinked as the footmen outside the gate dispersed, fleeing and then regrouping and then fleeing again. The riflemen atop the fort's wall fired back, pelting the bushes and trees with their much slower rate of fire.

Gutteral's heart raced when the first wave of bullets hit, though not due to fear of injury. The pellets from the heavy rifles were dull and slow, and they lacked the piercing damage of arrows even if they packed a more shocking blunt force. Truth be told, he even felt one dent his boots without actually hurting his foot. What he feared for was the morale of his troops; he'd taken a risk by putting the choice of victory or starvation to them, and though he knew his aunt would approve, he'd never tried such a motivational tactic before. The sound of a dozen bullets hitting the dirt struck him with a dozen spikes of anxiety, but when he only heard two of his troops groan in pain, he was able to calm himself more. The footmen didn't seem to take direct hits from his archers, but the fact that they'd uncourageously scrambled so quickly reassured him.

"Gnugs!" Gutteral called to his tinker, knowing that he wouldn't need to whisper in the commotion. "Prepare a rocket!"

"Yes sir!" she replied with gusto.

"Fon'kei!" he called, and a limber Darkspear woman approached. "Try to take out just one or two of those dwarves on the left side of the wall."

"I do it," she replied. She reached back to an oversized quiver strapped to her back, pulling from a collection of spears. "I kill two dwarves in the mornin!"

Unlike the footmen on the ground, the riflemen atop the wall were perfectly visible to Gutteral. Fon'kei wielded a spear as Murgrin, an overgrown Tauren brave standing next to her, and threw it with a slow, perfectly fluid overhand motion. As soon as the missile left her hand, one of the dwarves scored a direct shot to her upper arm, causing her whole body to shift. Before Gutteral even pulled the bullet out for her, he saw her spear pass through one of the riflemen's armor as if the dwarf were a paper cutout. He couldn't see where the dwarf fell, but he heard the audible thud of the carcass hitting the ground. His spearmen carried much less ammo than his archers, but the loss of only one projectile was worth it when one less hostile was shooting at them.

"Sprig, slow down the volley and conserve ammo! Fon, can you throw with your shield arm?"

"This one gonna heal in a minute," the headhunter answered.

"We don't have a minute. Take aim and try to clear that side of the wall." She hesitated, and he could see the disbelief on her face. "Go!"

"Yes, chief!" she replied once he raised his voice again.

Bullets and arrows flew back and forth, and she took her time lining up her second shot. The spear soared in an even slower motion, yet she seemed to anticipate how her target would move and easily scored another hit. This time, her chosen target didn't die right away, but the dwarf did stumble from the wall and disappeared inside the fort.

"Good job!"

"Boss, I have the rocket ready," Gnugs said.

The sound of another one of his troops being hit by a stray bullet worried him, and he cut corners on preparation. "Aim at the base of the other side of the wall!" he ordered.

The group's heavy, curly-haired hobgoblin walked forward and knelt down, glaring at the inanimate wall of the fort as sternly as a cross-eyed goon could. With the rocket launcher mounted on his shoulder, he waited for Gnugs to ignite the long red cylinder full of dynamite.

"Ert's blurs turf term," Bob the hobgoblin said as the rocket's wick burned out.

Sparks shot out from behind the rocket, setting a pile of fallen leaves on fire which Gutteral had to stomp out. A loud, piercing screech which sounded like a wounded harpy stung everyone's ears as the red rocket took off. Soaring almost in slow motion, the missile arched into the sky and began to descend towards the base of the wall. The dwarves disappeared in a fraction of a second, and more metal boots of footmen clanked as the humans scattered again. The rocket's pointed tip got stuck in between the pillars of bark-stripped trees comprising the fort's wall, leaving everyone on both sides holding their breath and waiting nervously. The most horrible type of silence continued for two seconds.

Almost on cue, a bluejay tried to perch on the rocket, causing the dynamite inside to ignite. Even at a considerable distance, the explosion at the wall boomed into the edge of the woods, causing everyone to howl from the pain in their eardrums. The goblins were knocked over by the force of the blast, Nolash dropped her staff, and Murgrin's lips blew open like he was in a wind tunnel. Around half a ton of dirt was blown into the air, splattering beyond the miniature black mushroom cloud and sullying the armor of anyone at the forest's edge. A severed arm, still inside a footman's armlet, fell at Fon's feet, and copious amounts of dust, wood chips, and blue feathers floated to the ground, passing the growing mushroom cloud in the opposite direction. The cloud itself wasn't much bigger than Bob, but it still rose to the sky in a mushroom formation, which made the aftermath appear all the more devastating. The sweet scent of burnt wood pulp mixed with the noxious odor of smoldering dirt, flesh, and metal, causing even Gutteral to hesitate before his next move.

Mesmerized, everybody stared at the remnants of the wall. The strippe tree trunks, some of them logs twenty feet high, had been blasted to smithereens. The side which had taken a direct hit had been toppled into a disorganized pile of collapsed pillars leaning against one another, and was actively burning, sending even more smoke into the air. The other side of the wall had been stripped of the first layer of wood, and the tops of the logs had been blown off. The main gate was laying ajar but was also on fire, negating it as a possible point of entry. The metal side door was melting and likely too hot to touch. They'd successfully cleared the wall of hostile targets, but they'd also delayed their invasion for as long as the fires burned. There were no natural sources of water to be found in the vicinity.

Ola stepped forward until she was shoulder to shoulder with Gutteral, speaking to him but watching the fire crackle on the wooden wall. "So what happens now?" she asked.

He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the smoke for possible escapees, though his mind was elsewhere. Morale of his troops was foremost of his concerns - especially since any delay to breaching the wall meant a delay in their ransacking Greywatch for food.

"We wait," he replied quietly enough for only her to hear. "We can't risk another shot like that; the hostages could be hit by splash damage. All we can do is rest here until we can safely enter."

A whoosh above their heads caused a number of the troops to gasp and yell. Sprig instinctively fired an arrow into the sky after a brown blur emerging from the smoke, and Fon'kei threw a rock at it, but they both caught only air as the unidentified flying object braved the flames and swiftly evaded their firing range. When the object flew over the horizon, the silhouette of a gryphon rider could be seen in the distance.

Unseen but heard, a human with a booming voice taunted them. "Your end is nigh, greenskins!" the voice shouted.

Gutteral wasn't interested in false bravado. He simply observed, looking through the smoke and trying to see where he could direct his ranged troops to shoot. He was focused on the task at hand; all had seemed well until then.

Until then.

"That messenger isn't heading to another fort for help," the snide human yelled. "He's going straight to Horde leadership to expose your initiation of hostilities!"


	4. Chapter 4

Even with a wall of his troops with the keenest senses watching the smoldering wooden wall, Gutteral couldn't shake off his apprehension. His chest clenched tightly and his teeth grinded as he tried to imagine the possibilities.

Ten minutes had passed, and the wall was still burning. Away from both the group of watching troops and those resting, the raider sat on a rock and drew hatch marks in the soil. Only his most trusted troops sat with him.

Drawing numbers and a map in addition to the tick marks, Gutteral tried to mark down everything they knew up until then. A few symbols represented individuals and supplies, rounding out the diagram he'd drawn. Zyrdax's mouth dropped open as if his cousin was performing rocket science.

Gnugs, an actual rocket scientist, proved more focused. "That's complete," she said just as the twig Gutteral had been using snapped. "I don't think there's any more to add."

"Good, good. The peasants on the other side of the fire are trying to put it out, so we only have a few more minutes to spare."

Ola scooted closer and rested her chin in her palm. Although she couldn't read, she understood pictographs well and figured out the meanings quickly. "This is Valdisdall," she asked rhetorically while pointing to the point on the dirt map. "There are a few military officers there who the humans could be trying to contact. There's no way we can get there within the next day even if we sent someone now."

"So they're going to tattletale on us," Zyrdax sighed.

"What's done is done; the important thing is that neither us nor them has access to reinforcements for at least a full day," Gutteral said. "This is between us and them. We have ourselves and what we know about them."

"We don't know how many there are," Ola said.

"But we know the architectural standards for mountain fortresses of the Gilnean army, and that can help us to make an educated guess," Gnugs replied. "Gilneas had a stronger legal code than Stormwind, and they retain that for all of their structures built outside. I've seen plenty of schematics passed around by the Shattered Hand."

"What can we conclude about this one?" Gutteral asked.

Gnugs didn't hesitate. "The air is too thin up here for farming, and it's too forested for herding. That means that their supplies are likely flown in regularly, which means they'll be operating on a shoestring budget and a skeleton staff." She paused to look back at the burning wall and held up her thumbs as if guesstimating the width. "We're likely looking at only two structures for barracks, and maybe only one supply building. One more could be fit for their laborers if they build two stories, but no town hall. No specific structure for their gryphons. No horses at all given the terrain and lack of space for their style of stables."

"What does that mean in terms of troops?" Gutteral asked.

"If It were only Gilneans, then they could fit forth assuming they all sleep in human form. But they also have dwarves who occupy less space, so that changes things a bit. We saw at least ten dwarves atop that wall, but we don't know if there are more. For humans and dwarves in there, it could be a split like 35-10, 30-20, we can't know for sure. This is ignoring civilians, of course."

"What about our citizens?" he asked.

At that topic, Gnugs did hesitate. "Assuming they haven't been executed?" she asked.

"Yes. The world has been quiet since Argus, and if this camp is as impoverished as we estimate, then they're unlikely to kill their only bargaining chips. All that keeps them from negotiating with us is likely the belief that they can ransom those refugees for a better deal if they can reach higher ranking officials than me."

"So we're racing against the clock, then?" Ola asked, also rhetorically. "They're hoping to hold us off until they can get a response from higher ups who will call us off?"

"More than likely, yes. It's not a bad move on their part." Gutteral paused again and counted up his hatch marks. "They're backed into a corner, and if we make them think we're out for blood, they'll fight harder, and maybe even hurt our citizens. What we need to do is punish them, and thin out their numbers until they're convinced that nobody can save them from us. Then we extend the olive branch."

"They'll force you to kill them regardless."

All eyes turned to the source of the voice, finding a familiar enchanted cloak and unholy staff between the trees. Nolash had been eavesdropping, as she often did, and was already prepared with her pessimism.

Not willing to allow her to challenge him in public, Gutteral snapped at her. "Any suggestions, Nolash, or are you too busy finding excuses not to participate?" She actually looked offended; usually he just took her neurotic comments in a stride, and she seemed unused to facing his retaliation. If he could extend an olive branch to the enemy, he could to her as well. "What could be the result if they force us to kill them?"

Pursing her lips resentfully for a second, she chose her words a bit more carefully once she'd recovered from his ire. "If you want to save the hostages, you must surrender troops specifically for finding them. This must be during the battle, not after the monsters are beaten, otherwise they'll kill our citizens out of spite." She didn't elaborate beyond that. Indeed, it was the most Nolash had said in over a week, and explaining her cryptic ramblings was likely tiring for her.

While Gutteral was trying to link a few coherent thoughts for just a second, his cousin leaned closer to him. "I can do it," Zyrdax whispered.

"Quiet," Gutteral whispered back. "I'm thinking."

"You know I've wanted to sack this place for weeks. Let me prove to you that I can do this."

"I'm considering that and other possibilities. You've made your request clear."

"Gutteral, please, I'm being serious."

"And I'm being serious; it's a possibility."

Zyrdax pouted like a big baby. "You lead everyone here except for me."

"Do you want to repeat what you just said?" Gutteral asked sharply.

He didn't expect his cousin to actually reply. "You lead your troops so well, yet you make a point to leave me behind. I wish you would trust me like you trust unblooded."

Heat actually rose up to Gutteral's jaw, in his throat, and in his fist. Not backhanding his cousin in front of the others took an incredible amount of willpower. That effort expended, more than Zyrdax's comment itself, forced the commander to accept the truth: Zyrdax was technically correct.

Realizing that his most trusted troops would judge his leadership, Gutteral internally admitted the checkmate facing him. He didn't like it, but then again, he didn't like the whole situation.

"Ola, I want you and Zyrdax to sweep the entire fort once our frontline can breach the wall. Rulfim is over there with the other archers; he can back the two of you up. Consider your mission one of hostage extraction."

Ever his right hand, Ola nodded to him and then slapped Zyrdax on the back. "We'll make it work," she said, and the youth looked overjoyed.

Gnugs continued staring at the diagram in the dirt. "So how does this go for the rest of us?"

Gutteral looked up to check the wall. The flames had died down, causing an inordinate amount of exceptionally dark plumes of smoke to billow up into the sky. He couldn't tell how many enemy troops were on the other side of the dark cloud, but he could see little splashes of water insinuating that they were actively trying to douse the remaining parts of the fire deep at the bottom of the piles of rubble.

A plan quickly formed in his mind. "That's your machine gun over there, right?" he asked the tinker.

"Yes, the one we modified after raiding that gnomish caravan."

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. I'll need you stationed perpendicular to their gate to avoid hitting either the hostages or our troops."

"That thing can only sustain about twenty seconds of fire before it overheats, sir. Our ammo is also low, and those pellets the dwarves have aren't compatible."

"Twenty seconds are all we need, Gnugs. I need Bob to be ready with it to the side; you make sure he doesn't shoot unless the enemy tries to exitthe gate. Only when we're sure that those cowards won't come out will we go in. At that point, I'll need you, Bob, and Bertha to stand watch and ensure that none of them can escape."

"And the rest of you?"

He looked over at his troops, noticing how they'd become agitated watching the humans put out the fire on the wall. "We'll do the only thing we can in a situation like this. Nolash?"

"My sight is yours, Chief."

"We'll need that soon. But first...can you help prepare the troops?"

Suspicious after his previous tongue-lashing, she looked him over cautiously. When he nodded to her to reassure her that her help was needed, she relaxed. She nodded back and removed her hood, revealing hair that had only recently begun to turn grey. Her gaze swept over the troops as well as the gate, though Gutteral didn't know what she was looking for.

"Let them hear me," she asked.

"Alright. Gnugs, go get Bob ready. Ola, find Rulfim. Zyrdax?"

"Yes, boss?" his cousin asked.

They all stood, and Gutteral grabbed his younger by the pauldron. It was the most personal gesture he'd shown in front of anybody other than Ola, and Zyrdax almost looked surprised.

"Give them hell," he said, almost smiling for a second.

Flattered beyond words, Zyrdax could only nod and hurry after Ola, who was already passing the news of their plan to the rest of the troops. Gnugs was shoving Bob in a weak attempt to get him to stand up, though the hobgoblin was trying to eat his own ear and would likely need another minute or so to realize that they were about to fight again. Nolash waited patiently, and Gutteral took a deep breath realizing that they had no more to do other than begin.

The raider and the warlock walked to the center of the troops; all of them except for Ola and Rulfim turned to watch their leader, leaving the smoking scene of the wall for a moment. When he was sure he had their attention, he nudged Nolash to get her started.

She cleared her throat. "Let me be the cover for your bodies, as your bodies are cover for your souls," she announced, though a number of the troops had no idea what she was talking about. "To minimize our sacrifice this day, we need another...blood for blood quenches the spirits. Who will give their blood for the refugees of the Rageroar?"

The long ears of one of their troll berserkers pricked up. Nahreneh, a survivor from the decimated Shatterspear tribe, appeared to have been struck emotionally by the mention of another group considered refugees. Knocking over Sprig, she stepped in front of the other soldiers. "Take my blood!" she yelled, tearing off the leather wraps of one of her thick thighs.

Nolash grinned. "Glad we don't need to resort to demon blood this time," the Shadowmoon orc said while drawing a curved dagger. "We don't need much."

Nahreneh glared impatiently. "I'll be healing soon, now let's get started!"

Nolash plunged the dagger into the troll's rubbery skin, drawing a long cut down Nahreneh's thigh that made the Shatterspear former refugee wince. The dark purple woman's blood was thick like gelatin, and Nolash was actually able to cup it in her hands.

"Let the elements stay away from here...this is a pact of blood!" The warlock then reached to one of the grunts and smeared Nahreneh's blood on his forehead and chest without asking permission. He appeared annoyed, especially when no visible effects took place, but when Gutteral nodded in approval, the others started to line up. "Yes, all of you, the ritual must commence!"

One by one, all of the front line troops except for Nahreneh were smeared with the woman's blood. Nolash chanted the whole time, freaking a few of them out when the blood began to tingle on their bodies.

"This is the limit," she told Gutteral once she'd finished with the last grunt.

Kneeling down next to Nahreneh, Gutteral put an arm around her shoulder. "Do not forget the gift you've been given!" he told the others while squeezing the cut on her leg closed.

"My blood be coming back now!" Nahreneh said while gritting her teeth. "I'll be ready with them in a minute!" She looked fine, but she remained sitting, and he figured that even with her regeneration she would need a few moments to heal up.

"You'll be at the front with the rest of us," he told her. He then looked up to the others. "We're breaking down that burnt gate now. Once it's down, stand back and wait for our gunners to announce when it's clear. And then..." He paused and continued looking at them all, waiting for them to finish the sentence.

His cousin was ready. "It's war!" Zyrdax said, garnering a round of shouts from the others.

More lumber from the wall collapsed, and shouting could be heard on the other side of the wall. Nahreneh wiggled her leg in reaction. "It closed, my cut be closed," she said, squirming as if she couldn't wait to fight.

"Then it's time!" Gutteral said while rising. "Gnugs, do you have everything set up?"

"Yeah, boss," the tinker replied. Bob was carrying the heavy machine gun he'd ripped off of a gnomish arachnodroid last year, a chain of ammo wrapped over his suspenders.

"Take position by the side of the door. Sprig, make sure that you and Case can screen them from sneek attacks."

"You got it, Chief."

Finally, Gutteral turned to a hiterto reserved member of their squadron. "Big Bertha?" he said loudly.

Striding forward with all the swagger of a showhorse, a wall of flesh and iron answered his call. Twirling a big flanged mace in her hands, the Stonemaul ogre stood at the ready, and the others immediately started clapping and hollering. Bertha didn't even do anything else, but Horde soldiers everywhere often applauded her simply for showing up, and she worked it for all it was worth.

"Alright, simmer down!" Gutteral ordered the troops while the ogre posed. He looked up at her. "Are you ready?"

After blinking at him twice with her single eye - which was her way of winking - she pulled the metal face grill of her helmet down. "Let's get show on road," she said, earning a few whistles from Fon'kei.

Gutteral mounted his dire wolf for a better view, causing the other frontline troops to ready their weapons. "Shields up!" he ordered as he rode next to Big Bertha toward the gate. The shouting of the humans on the other side increased on volume, and the damaged gate shook as if they were trying to barricade it. "Whenever you're ready!"

Taking a broad stance, Bertha stood to the side of the gate, giving Gutteral's wolf time to back up. Waving her mace around like a big kid playing stickball, she reared back so far that Murgrin had to duck under the weapon. Swaying her hips toward the gate, the ogre demonstrated perfect form as he struck the wooden entrance. The entire wall shook and rattled, causing the troops to cheer again, and she milked it for all it was worth. Waving her weapon in a circle comically, she hit the gate again, sending half a ton of ash and smoke puffing up in the air above them. The whole squadron was eating it up, hooting and hollering as their adrenaline pumped and increased their want for battle.

Everyone, that is, save Gutteral and Nolash. Ever wary of tricks and sneak attacks, he peered around for possible problems as Bertha smashed Greywatch's wall down. When he noticed Nolash squinting and staring at the wall with her cursed dark vision, he knew that things were awry.

"What do you see?" he whispered, knowing that she had a sort of sixth sense for living souls. Despite that sense, she still seemed perplexed.

"They have...something," she murmured in confusion. "Not someone...something..."

With a final heave, Big Bertha knocked the gate down, causing the frontline troops to roar with approval. The wooden planks forming the gate broke in half and collapsed into a pile of nothing, giving them their first view inside of the fort. Even through the smoke, Gutteral could tell that there weren't any opposing soldiers waiting for them; just the body silhouette of an inanimate object the size of the ogre herself. As every second passed, the object became clearer, and Gutteral's suspicion was validated.

There was an entire siege tank aimed directly at them.

The top hatch flung open, and a dwarf wearing an eyepatch crawled out. "Great to meet ya!" the dirtied, greasy creature sneered at them.

And then the tank fired.


	5. Chapter 5

The siege tank's shell moved in its normal fast motion. There was no slowing down of time, there was no distortion of perception, and there was no moment of pause before the end. The event was swift, violent, and truly awe-inspiring.

By sheer chance, Big Bertha swung her mace forward at just the right angle. Any deviation, even by a fraction of an inch, would have spelled disaster from which there could be no recovery. Random and without true aim or accuracy, her weapon just happened to swing at the same height as the trajectory of the tank shell, but at a lopsided angle that pushed the oversized bullet off course.

"Err-raa!" Bertha growled as she swung, followed by the loud metallic ding of her mace's flanges breaking off against the surface of the shell.

Wood snapped as her weapon broke like a twig, sending splinters everywhere. Despite the ogre's bulk, she was spun around in a circle as if she weighed nothing, thrown completely off balance by the force of the projectile. The shell arched upward and over the mountainous outcropping which formed most of the walls of Greywatch, exploding against the rocks. Everybody stood stupefied, probably amazed by the fact that none of them had reacted quickly enough to actually dodge. Had Bertha not already been in position, most of them would have been one-shotted to death by the projectile. They were saved only by sheer dumb luck, not any sort of skill or initiative.

They could feel embarrassed later; they were dazed, disorganized, and dumbstruck.

Gutteral pointed at Ukasha. "Get her out of there!" he yelled.

The brave merely grunted while grabbing the downed ogre by her baldric. She leapt to her feet as swiftly as she could, but the two of them were so large and heavy that the siege tank's engine had already clinked.

"They're reloading!" Gnugs yelled. "Incoming hostiles!" she yelled again while slapping Bob. "Everybody get back!"

This time when shots rang out, the troops all hit the dirt and belly-crawled to the soft cover behind the shrubbery where Gutteral was pointing to. More than a dozen enemy soldiers burst out of the gate in a mixed group. Dwarven riflemen, human footmen, humans transformed into worgen stalkers - they all began to fall in an iron blaze, for Bob had already gotten started.

The huge hobgoblin began turning a crank sort of like the handle on a jack-in-the-box. After a delay of half a second, the gnomish machine gun began rotating, firing low-grade bullets in a line in front of the destroyed gate. Four humans and two worgen died on the spot, two were shot but stayed on their feet, one miraculously ran past the hail of bullets unscathed, and three dwarves ran directly beneath the gunfire. Even more miraculously, Bob stopped shooting when Gnugs slapped him again, though that was probably because the gun overheated and forced him to drop it like a hot potato.

Gutteral smiled for the first time that day; at least one part of the plan had worked. "Sprig! Hit the dwarves first!" he yelled.

Wordlessly, Sprig and Case started firing arrows at the three riflemen, injuring all of them though not killing the stubborn creatures. One of them shot at the grunts, though the pellet failed to penetrate their shields. When the single footman who hadn't been shot leapt for the goblins, Gutteral cut half the man's arm off, causing the human to fall but not die. There was no time to make him die.

"Off with ya!" the greasy dwarven tank driver taunted.

Gutteral realized too late that those siege engines reloaded as fast as the riflemen. "Scatter! Scatter!" he yelled as the tank blasted again.

The second shell hit the ground in between the wounded Alliance soldiers and Gutteral's own squadron. The pointed tip pierced quite deeply into the ground, sending minor shockwaves that caused his troops to stumble and the wounded footmen and worgen to groan in pain. The grunts continued to flee from the open gate, putting a considerable distance between themselves and the shell by the time it exploded. The blast was partially smothered underground, and a sort of dirt geyser flew up into the sky and knocked the wounded Alliance soldiers around.

They would have much time. "Nolash, if you're going to do something, do it no-"

Gutteral stopped himself mid sentence when he saw the warlock hobbling over toward the corpses of some footmen. "I need these!" she yelled frantically. The sense of urgency in her misty eyes quelled the raider's anger at her temporarily. She was lazy and uncouth, but she was also right most of the time - even if he often didn't understand what she was talking about until it was too late. He didn't want this to be one of those times.

"Bring those to her!" Gutteral yelled to Fon'kei while pointing toward the downed footmen.

"You the boss!" she replied, and then promptly skewered one of the footmen in the butt cheek. The human cried out in pain as she dragged him away from the opening in the gate with her spear, and two more cried as they suffered the same fate.

Pulling out her sacrificial dagger once more, Nolash engaged in a disgusting display of primeval death rituals as she smeared blood from the injured humans in demonic runes on the ground. Chanting quickly and nervously, the began making signals with her hands as all of the troops braced for another impact.

The glowing lights began with the grunts nearest to Nolash. Flickering in and out, the blood of Nehreneh marked on their faces and bodies began to glow faintly, shimmering a sort of purple color. The still-living footmen on the ground, too injured to move but not injured enough to die, laid still as their wounds also began to glow purple. Murmurs broke out among them as they all took notice of the blood pact they'd been joined to, and Nolash looked up to their leader with a similar sense of urgency.

"May they be blessed with unholy armor against the dwarves," she said, speaking more coherently than normal for her. "Until these wretches bleed out, no bullets or arrows will put down our troops...until these wretches bleed out."

Gutteral watched as the gaping wounds in the three downed footmen continued to pour blood into the grass. They didn't have much time. Fortunately, he didn't need much time to improvise; the few seconds it took for the siege tank to fire at them for the third time was all he needed, and he rode to one side of his troops as the third shell blasted away the lumber and rubble from the center of the gate.

He pointed to Ukasha and Ral'rush, a Darkspear curmudgeon. "You two, grab the sides of that tank and tip it off balance! Bertha, dismantle the turret once they attack!"

"Ogre smash!" Big Bertha yelled as she and the two warriors followed her through the gate.

A hail of gunfire met them as soon as they walked inside, and Gutteral felt his heart skip a beat when the first round of bullets buffeted his fighters. True to her word, the unholy armor Nolash had casted worked, and the iron projectiles bounced off the trio like paper wads. Once the first wave failed to hurt them, the three got over the initial shock and continued to charge the siege tank, much to the greasy dwarf's ire.

"Aye, hurry it up ya wee bastards!" it shouted at other beings within the tank before Bertha grabbed him by the head and flung him against the chassis of the tank.

"GO!" Gutteral yelled at the other grunts, unsheathing his sword and charging in to Greywatch for the first time.

Energized once the blood pact proved to work, the infantry all charged inside, taking offensive stances as they ran headfirst into the second wave of gunfire. Finally inside of the fort, Gutteral slowed down to get a better look at the place. The layout was as Gnugs had estimated, marked by four buildings exactly, though the open place between buildings was also a cruddy mess full of junk and trash heaps. Blunderbusses thundered from both windows in the buildings as well as the bushes, holding the raider's attention well.

He began pointing at various soldiers with his sword, dividing them up quickly. "Four in the left barracks, four in the right! Four in the warehouse! Three in the inn!"

"For the Horde!" rang out the unsynchronized war cries of his troops.

"Sprig, Case, screen the bushes and trees for us!"

"On it!" the two goblins replied as they sent arrows toward the unseen shooters.

Gutteral spun around, counting up whichever soldiers were remaining. Ukasha and Ral'rush had grabbed both sides of the siege tank and were tipping it back and forth violently, leaving Bertha to twist the turret until it clanked loudly and spewed out smoke. "Leave it!" Gutteral yelled. "Bertha, hold the gate outside with Bob and Gnugs! You two, follow the goblins!"

The trio disbanded, leaving the tank to slowly catch on fire. A few shells exploded inside by accident, but the vehicle had been built so well that the frame was merely dented. The treads has already been dislocated by the two warriors trying to tip it over, and Gutteral spurred his wolf to leap atop it for a better view knowing that it had been disabled.

His last troops were waiting behind him. "Ola, Zyrdax, Rulfim, scout the perimeter! Rescue those refugees at all costs!"

Ola crouched yet jogged relatively quickly as she did so, sneaking between the trees and the trash heaps as Sprig and Case continued to cover them from any hidden riflemen. As the trio disappeared behind the buildings of the fort, Zyrdax glanced back one last time with a child-like twinkle in his eye. Even if Gutteral couldn't smile at his troops, he did pause for a moment of pride at his cousin stepping up perform the most crucial step of their plan. That moment was cut short when another shell inside the tank beneath exploded, causing the chassis to rumble and his wolf to grow agitated.

"Go, go," he ordered the mount, spurring it to leap forward.

More shots rang out as his troops ran headlong into the buildings of Greywatch, followed by battle shouts and crashing furniture. Undoubtedly the humans and dwarves there were shocked when their rifles proved ineffective against his squadron. Even if the pinkskins realized they could still cause melee damage, it would probably be too late by then. He'd have to reward Nolash and Nehreneh later.

A window shattered in the largest building, catching the raider's attention. In the structure which Gnugs had specified as laborer housing, a number of Gilnean yet non-worgen humans dove out of the second story window. Two of them crippled themselves in the act, but two more successfully dropped and rolled and started to run. Gutteral didn't even bother chasing them when he saw Murgrin exit the door of the building.

"Get them! Bertha and Bob are at the gate, box them in before they send for help!"

"Aye!" Murgrin replied while huffing and puffing and chasing down the humans.

As Gutteral waited, he heard more shouts and screams erupt from the structures of the fort. Though not at ease, he did observe what he could with satisfaction as measured how many of the cries of pain were discernibly human. All things considered, they'd done rather well even when he was sure that Nolash's spell had worn off by then.

To his surprise, two full worgen-form Gilneans exited the laborer's quarters, stepping over the crippled humans out front and glancing around frantically as if seeking an escape. Their presence didn't bother him so much as his suspicion as to just how they'd managed to walk right out the front door.

"Take care of them, and of whatever's happening inside," Gutteral ordered Ukasha and Ral'rush. The two worgen growled at the raider, hackles raised, but he waved them off as he continued to observe the rest of the battle. "Get real," he told the two wolfmen, brushing off their animalistic challenge.

The two worgen turned just in time to find the two warriors charging at them. Ukasha ducked his head down and dove, letting his target's claws scratch ineffectively at his pauldrons and helmet while goring the beast in the throat with his horns. Ral'rush took the deep clawmarks of his own opponent to his flesh without flinching, stunning the second worgen with an uppercut and knocking it down it with a headbutt to the temple. The two men subsequently butchered the already incapacitated targets, causing Gutteral to roll his eyes.

"Just get in there and figure out what the hell happened!" he ordered sternly, and they promptly stopped wasting time and ran inside.

Gradually, the sounds of conflict died down, transforming either into sweeps for hidden enemies or loud begging from subdued foes. Flanked only by Sprig and Case, Gutteral began to think of post-battle plans. For one human, such thoughts were a minute too soon.

"Boss, on the roof!" Case said while tugging on his hand.

On top of the warehouse, Gutteral noticed a human wearing navy blue leather watching him. Acrimonious and spiteful in his visage, the Gilnean was perched atop the structure with the best view of the action. The orc could already smell a challenge coming along, but per his rule against rolling his eyes twice in one day, he sufficed by visibly sighing.

Contemptuous to the bone, the human stood high atop the building and curled his mustached lip in disgust. "You have no idea who you've picked a fight with," it said without a hint of sarcasm in its voice.

Gutteral stifled a laugh. "Oh, I think I have a fairly decent idea. This is the site of a commemorative monument where an Alliance fort once stood."

Growling like a dog, the human sneered defiantly in the face of reality. "This isn't over yet!" The leather stretched around the joints, stretching like elastic as the humans face became distorted and elongated, and coarse brown hair began to sprout from every pore.

Unfazed even when the sizeable monster leapt to the ground mid-transformation, Gutteral raised a curious eyebrow. "You really want to see how this plays out?"

Snorting as its metamorphosis finished, the Gilnean wolfman opened its arms and flexed its claws in a threatening display. Yes, apparently it did want to see how things played out.

Popping his neck, the orc raider dismounted and sent his diremwolf mount to sit with the two goblins. He'd half-expected a final boss fight, though the vanity of the whole endeavor was too apparent for him to ignore.

He drew his greatsword and stood defensively. "Even if you win, my troops will crucify you to a tree when we're done. If you'd just let our citizens go, I'll release your surviving soldiers-"

"Let them go?" the worgen roared at him indignantly. "Let them go? After all of this?" It pointed angrily to the smoldering gate, flaring its nostrils furiously. "Damn you to hell you demonspawn! Damn you and your insincere apology after murdering innocent people!"

Gutteral finally frowned. "I've heard enough." Having given more warning than his own commanding officers would have asked for, he crouched lower and cautiously shuffled toward the recalcitrant boss (he assumed) of Greywatch.

The worgen roared again and charged. It was both bigger and faster than Gutteral, like a living fireball, but it was hasty. Misunderstanding his slow shuffle, the beast leapt at the last second, arms outstretched and maw wide open.

The raider's footwork was too good, and even at a speed disadvantage, he easily sidestepped the jump attack and turned, slicing off the fur and first layer of hide from the worgen's tricep. The beast snarled and swung at him furiously in reaction, catching only the horns of Gutteral's helmet and the spikes of his pauldrons. The orc just held his blade up defensively, parrying wild swipes and holding a staunch yet cautious stance as he leaned in to his opponent. The beast was fiercer, stronger, and faster than him, but it bruised up its paws scratching at his armor as he tactically spun and turned to take all blows on his steel plate. Frustration mounted in the worgen's eyes until it made a fatal mistake.

Upon being parried for the last time, the worgen moved to simply overpower the orc. Grabbing Gutteral by the helmet, the big wolfman yanked and twisted, opening its jaws to bite a chunk out of his neck. Without its hands free, the beast had no defense when Gutteral turned his sword up and stabbed straight through its lower jaw, tongue, and then upper jaw in succession. The tip of his sword pierced through the top of the worgen's snout, skewering its mouth like shish kebab and giving him control of its head.

He rotated his wrists and forced it to turn its whole neck, garnering a gurgling groan as he countinued rotating and forced it to the ground. Gaining nothing from prolonging its suffering when there weren't even any Alliance troops to intimidate, he pulled the sword out and delivered the coup de grace, ending the battle of Greywatch decisively. The goblins were already applauding by the time he'd wiped the excess blood from his blade.

"Bravo, boss," Case said as the orc surveyed what had once been an enemy fort. "Truly a tale to be told!"

Normally he would have responded to admiration from a follower, maybe even returning a compliment for the sake of morale. It was his second most important concern in battle. However, at that time, his first and foremost concern was on his mind.

"Where are the hostages?"


	6. Chapter 6

One by one, the troops began filtering out of the four structures, weapons at the ready but demeanors quite relaxed. All things considered, the battle had gone rather well. On paper, it would likely look great judging by what Gutteral was silently observing from his spot atop his wolf in the center of the ravaged fort.

For sure, a number of his warriors looked hurt, but none of them were seriously wounded. He noticed a few cuts and bruises, but their triumphant laughter implied that the situation was mostly under control.

The troops in the barracks exited first, prodding their prisoners in front of them. The blood pact must have succeeded resoundingly, as there were few Gilneans left among the dozen or so survivors. The dwarven riflemen, who couldn't injure the grunts for the duration of the spell, must have been deliberately ignored for the worst of the fight. Most of them didn't seem to have survived either, but those who did predominated among the sour-faced Alliance troops who were forced to kneel in the grass next to the corpse of the fort's deceased leader.

Even their morose expressions didn't lift the raider's spirits into a sense of accomplishmen, though. Not yet.

Aside from the handful of chattering grunts, nobody said a word as the prisoners stared at their dead captain and Gutteral scanned the fort for surprises. Although he did have to wait for a while, the sight of the ragged persons of interest emerging from behind the barracks eventually caused him to sigh with relief.

Shambling and dehydrated, the Rageroar refugees hustled on bare, dirtied feet. They shielded their eyes from the sun, implying that they'd been kept in the dark but also protecting them from the acrimonious glares from the surviving dwarves. Gutteral counted eight bodies approaching the nearest cluster of grunts, but something was wrong. One of them was too small.

"Rulfim?" Gutteral asked as the disheveled refugees practically collapsed into the arms of his troops.

Sure enough, the eighth body was too small to be an orc. He hadn't been able to see clearly when the dirty rags of the former captives mixed in with the colors of the bushes and leaves next to the barracks, but now he could see that there were only seven of the freed hostages. They dropped the goblin as they collapsed, and his soldiers immediately tended to them. Rulfim didn't appear maimed from such a distance, but he couldn't move on his own. His right-hand woman and his cousin were nowhere to be seen.

"Kegth, get them some water. Nolash, they need healthstones, especially Rulfim."

"Yes, boss," the grunt named Kegth replied. Nolash nodded and got to work conjuring the glowing globes of life force, focusing too much to respond.

Before Gutteral could even figure out what had happened, there was commotion at the door of the two story building. Ral'rush poked his tusks out, holding on to the arm of an injured grunt. She wasn't bleeding, but she clutched her abdomen as if her ribs had been broken. "Boss, we gotta situation," the Darkspear said.

Ukasha exited the building next, looking even more loathsome of the world than was usual for the silent Grimtotem. Behind him, he dragged a bloodied corpse - of one of Gutteral's soldiers. The squadron leader could already feel his blood boiling, but without anyone to focus it on, all other matters were wiped from his mind.

"Explain," he growled at them all, hushing the rest of the squadron up real fast.

Wincing in pain but not afraid, the injured grunt grunted and spoke. "Borba of the Blackrock clan, sir," she said in panting breaths. "Murgrin went rogue. He...helped those dead things." She pointed to the two worgen who Ral'rush and Ukasha had killed.

"Murgrin has been by my side since Wrathgate," Gutteral replied, unable to hide his shock.

"By the spirits of my people, I swear that he betrayed us," the Blackrock named Borba panted more insistently. "He saw the peasants in there and lost his nerve. He tried to let them go...and he let those two worgen maul this one to death." She pointed out the torn up orc corpse in Ukasha's arms. As if to emphasize her point, the Tauren held the corpse out further with an expression of concern. "When I tried to intervene, he broke a support column on the second floor and made me fall through to the first floor."

Try as he might, Gutteral couldn't sense any dishonesty in her. Even when he stared her down, she didn't flinch or cower away. Images of Murgrin valiantly fighting an entire platoon of gnomes floated through the raider's mind, threatening to influence his actions in the present too much. He had to shift his thoughts away from the past.

"What did you see, Rush?" he asked the jungle troll.

"Only the aftermath, boss," Ral'rush replied deferently, "and Borba was on the first floor buried under the...uh...floor of the second floor. I mean-"

"I get it, it's clear."

"Right. And those wolfmen weren't having any weapons to smash any support columns with. Murgrin was having his hammer."

Gutteral was silent, so everyone else was silent. Unfortunately, the way they all stared at him disrupted his quiet moment to think, pushing him to act yet again. He turned back toward the ruined gate of the fort, finally realizing that he couldn't see anybody outside. He hadn't heard any gunshots from Bob, and if there had been an ambush or other crisis, then he would have. However, the lack of activity still concerned him, and he had to maintain order.

He turned to his troops. "Nehreneh, Sprig, go check on the party covering the gate. If Murgrin is there, tell him he has to return now. If those two humans who escaped are there, have Bertha bring them in separately from Murgrin."

"On it!" Sprig replied as he and Nehreneh took their leave.

Gutteral turned back to the ragged band of refugees, waving for Borba and the others to wait while he greeted the former hostages. All the Rageroar clan members looked like hell, beaten and starved like abused dogs in cages. They all murmured their thanks almost fearfully, and they appeared too tired to stand back up. Nolash was busy setting what appeared to be a split on Rulfim's leg.

The wounded archer looked up at Gutteral with the same resigned fear of the refugees. "They didn't make it...I'm sorry," he murmured, causing Gutteral to kneel.

His heart jumped up into his neck. "Zyrdax...Ola?" he whispered.

Rulfim gulped visibly. "I tried...I'm so-"

"Move it!"

Gutteral's attention was pulled away by the sound of Big Bertha shouting. The ogre was quite angry, moving roughly a she shoved a brown furry lump inside of the fort. It was Murgrin, uncharacteristically nervous and bleeding from a few minor yet fresh wounds. Sprig entered with them, sprinting forward toward Gutteral. The orc raider grabbed Rulfim's hand firmly and nodded before returning to the first of the two crises.

He met Sprig halfway between the gate and his troops and prisoners. The uninjured goblin looked as angry as Bertha, but as usual, was more verbose in expressing his feelings.

"I don't even know what to say, boss," Sprig huffed as Bertha marched a battered Murgrin toward the rest of the squadron. Gutteral stopped them.

"Short version, Sprig. Short version."

"Gutteral, I can explain!" Murgrin exclaimed. The orc held out a hand to silence the crestfallen Tauren, but he was irritated to find that his signal was unheeded. "Let me explain!"

He furrowed his brow impatiently, temporarily cowing Murgrin into silence. Not wanting his longtime comrade to make a scene, he turned back to Sprig, and the goblin took the cue.

"Bob clobbered these two humans trying to escape, then Murgrin clobbered him, then Bertha clobbered him."

The Tauren tried to speak again, but Gutteral cut him off, pretending not to notice in an attempt to save Murgrin from himself and his big mouth. "Where are the humans?" the Warsong orc asked.

"Dead," Sprig answered.

"How's Bob?"

"He's tough, he just has a bruise in the middle of his gut. Murgrin walloped him hard. He says he's fine, though."

"Nehreneh is with him?"

"Yes, her and Gnugs. They're watching the gate. Bob has Murgrin's hammer."

"Boss, this isn't what it looks like!" Murgrin protested.

"Quiet!" Gutteral said, raising his voice slightly and causing everyone to fall silent and Murgrin to look down. "Grunt Borba, you say that Murgrin let enemies escape, abandoned our comrade here, and collapsed the ceiling on you?"

Wincing and scowling, the Blackrock orc nodded. "Yes."

"That's not what it seems-"

"Murgrin, wait. Rush, you found Borba under a pile of rubble?"

"Yeah, maybe more than just a pile, Boss," the Darkspear answered.

"That's not exactly true-"

"Murgrin. Wait. Ukasha, you believe that the worgen didn't have the gear to knock out a support column in that building?"

The Grimtoten Tauren nodded wordlessly. Murgrin's eyes shot up to Ukasha in shock, and although the Bloodhoof Tauren tried to whisper in Taurahe, Ukasha just snorted angrily and refused to make eye contact.

"Big Bertha...did you see Bob kill two escapees at the gate?"

"Uh-huh," the ogre replied.

"And Murgrin hit Bob with his hammer?"

"No!" Murgrin protested.

"Uh-huh, yes he did."

"It wasn't a hit, it was a push!"

"Murgrin!" Gutteral growled, finally losing his patience.

"You're letting them talk, everybody in the world is talking except for me, I can't do any of the talking-"

Gutteral's gauntlet clanked as he backhanded the blubbering Bloodhoof across the snout, snapping everyone including the prisoners of war and Rageroar refugees to attention. Murgrin fell forward and caught himself on his palms just before his head hit the ground, and he stayed down panting and sniveling. The sorry sight almost caused Gutteral to feel pain at the embarrassment of it all. However, the corporal punishment had been sufficient to reassert his control over the group, and he was even able to dramatically pause for effect before turning back to the ogre again.

"Bertha, after Murgrin hit Bob, what did you do?" the Warsong raider asked firmly.

"I grabbed a rock and broke it on Murgrin's arm. To stop him. Then Bob took the hammer."

Nodding and turning back to the downed Tauren, Gutteral sighed deeply. His love for the law thankfully overrode loyalty to individuals, and his memories of the good times with the bovine man under his command. The words didn't come easily to him, but they didn't prove insurmountable.

"What happened, Murgrin?"

The Tauren shook his head without looking up. "I didn't do it." Bertha harrumphed and Ukasha grunted, but Gutteral silence them to let Murgrin continue. "I was trying to push Bob out of the way."

"We have a witness against you in Bertha, and probably in Bob and Gnugs when I talk to them."

"Can I say something, boss?" Sprig asked.

"No. Murgrin, what do you claim you pushed Bob out of the way for?" For a few seconds, the Bloodhoof didn't answer. "Murgrin."

"For the civilians," Murgrin mumbled, much to the ire of the others.

"Simmer down!" Gutteral ordered. "Murgrin, are you telling me that you tried to allow two members of the Alliance to leave the scene of a battle?"

"Civilians!"

"People who could also send for reinforcements. If it's not bad enough that they're already trying to stir up trouble with our higher ups with that gryphon rider of theirs, any escapees could also have sent out distress signals and brought more of the Alliance here. Bob may have jumped the gun by going lethal instead of injurious, but you assaulted a comrade for the sake of enemies."

"Gutteral, they were innocent!"

"That's Lieutenant to you, Corporal."

Glass eyed and almost childlike, Murgrin just tried to play the sympathy card. "What about Wrathgate-"

"And those two worgen who walked right out of the building?" Gutteral asked, interrupting. "You let them go?" Murgrin only nodded. "Why? Speak up, why?"

"They said they...said they didn't want to fight."

The troops started to rabble again. "Next one to speak out of turn will be on their knees next to him!" Gutteral snapped. His blood was boiling, and the last thing he needed was one of his more loyal troops forcing him to vent his anger on them. When they shut up, he turned back to Murgrin. "Two of our enemies told you they surrender, and you then watched them kill one of our crew?"

"No, they didn't!"

Borba's jaw tightened, but thankfully she didn't force Gutteral to make an example of her. "So Borba is lying about how this man died?" he asked swiftly, cutting off the chance for any others to interject.

"I don't know," Murgrin mumbled.

"What's that?"

"I don't know! I just don't know!"

"Did our comrade not die before you left the building?"

"Yes! No! I don't know!"

"You don't know?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" Murgrin cried.

"You don't know how our comrade died, you don't know if you helped those worgen escape, you don't know if you tried to save enemies posing as civilians, or you don't know what you're apologizing for?"

"Yes!"

"What the...yes to what?"

"I didn't do it!"

Gutteral facepalmed. "Murgrin...stop."

"I'm sorry! I didn't do anything, but I'm also sorry!"

"Stop."

"Let me go!"

"Stop. Stop. Seriously, just stop."

"I didn't do it!"

"Do you even know what you're claiming innocence of?" Gutteral asked, exasperated.

"I don't know!" Murgrin cried. Gutteral stared down at him, tightening his fists as he tried to reconcile the stalwart soldier who'd been at his side with the blubbering rogue he now saw before him. "Gutteral, I didn't do anything! I don't know what happened!"

The Bloodhoof Tauren fell into a sort of babbling, his deep voice trailing off into a mishmash of Orcish, Common, and Taurahe. Gutteral didn't want to expose the refugees to too much insubordination; he had to end the standoff.

"Let everyone listen now, lest I ever need to explain this again," he said loudly, causing all eyes to focus on him even more intently.

"One has accused another of letting a comrade die; the accused denies. The victim can't testify. In the old ways, this would mean death; but under Horde law, I can't order capital punishment without direct testimony from the victim or confession from the accused. Eyewitness testimony is only enough for prison time."

Murgrin breathed a little easier, Borba breathed heavier, and Gutteral paused to be sure that all ears would pay attention to what happened next.

"But that isn't the end of our problem. The accuser has been injured on the battlefield; the accused trapped her in an indefensible position and abandoned her. This is an attempt on her life, while hostile targets still abounded. The accused denies, but the victim testifies. And we know there was nobody else in that building to collapse the entire second floor on her."

"No! No, no, no-"

"Take it like a grown adult!" Gutteral growled, cowing Murgrin into silence and causing the grunts closer to his position to jump. "Now, we have another crime. The accused also assaulted a comrade. We have an eyewitness here, and we can easily bring the victim back from the gate to testify. This proves a pattern of aiding and abetting the enemy, definitively attacking one comrade, and vindicating the accusation of another - we no longer need eyewitnesses to corroborate Borba's claim. The attack on Bob is enough."

Slowly, Gutteral strode forward, approaching Borba. Even with what seemed to be a broken rib, she gripped Ral'rush's neck and tried to pull herself up straight. Her wince turned into a gasping breath when Gutteral drew his greatsword.

Gleaming even with the blood stains, the weapon stood out like a deeper exchange between them. Swords were more expensive than axes and spears, and Gutteral was the only one in his Warband to own one. Borba seemed confused until he nodded and held his big two-hander out to her again.

"Bob is hurt; you almost died. You be the judge."

Murmurs floated up from the squadron, but Gutteral let it slide as he continued staring at Borba to startle her and prevent her from hesitating. Clearly flattered and overwhelmed, the Blackrock orc nodded and forced the words out of her bloodied mouth.

"You honor me, Chief." Heaving and leaning on her brother-in-arms for support, she found the energy to take the greatsword in one hand and balance the non-edged side over her shoulder. Ral'rush kept her arm over his shoulder and helped her walk in front of Murgrin. "Look at me," she hissed at the Tauren.

Murgrin shook his head. "I'm sorry," he sobbed while staring at her boots.

"The Horde has no place for traitors!"

Gripping the greatsword upside down like a knife, she heaved and drove the blade into the base of Murgrin's neck between his throat and collar bone. Instinctively, he grabbed the blade but only sliced up his hands in the process, leaving her to pull it up and cut more. Half of the tauren's thick neck was sliced open, causing him to fall on his side like a gurgling, coughing mess as Borba cut the rest of his neck off like a holiday roast. The execution sapped what little energy she had left, and she pushed the hilt toward Gutteral when she'd finished.

Wiping his blade on Murgrin's fur, Gutteral stood up straight for a moment to regard his troops again. "The punishment has been delivered; let all grudges be ended." He looked over toward the people they'd been sent to rescue. "People Of clan Rageroar, stand in front of me in a line. Kegth, help Rulfim sit in front of them."

"Yes, sir," Kegth said, helping a morose looking Rulfim to sit down on the grass in front of Gutteral.

The seven Rageroar refugees stood behind the goblin archer, dozen and confused. They'd all been given water, but the experience was certainly overwhelming for them. Gutteral would have to thank them for the help they were unknowingly about to lend him.

"Rulfim...what happened to our two comrades?"

More murmurs arose, and Rulfim's crestfallen eyes darted from Gutteral's boots to Murgrin's corpse. "We found the refugees in a dugout jail cell the dwarves made. It's behind the trees out back, but the corner we turned behind the barracks was too sharp...we didn't see the guards until we were all face-to-face with each other."

"How many guards?"

"Three riflemen."

Gutteral watched the refugees from the corner of his eye. None of them flinched or twitched. If Rulfim had been lying, then they would have reacted involuntarily.

"How did it go down?"

"They all started shooting, and so did I. I took a bullet to my leg, Zyrdax took one to his throat, Ola to her chest." None of the refugees reacted, so Gutteral allowed the goblin to continue. "I hit one with an arrow, but I missed the second shot because my shin gave out on me. Zyrdax killed that one because I'd crippled it, but another pulled out an axe and...he caught Zyrdax in the center of the forehead."

The Rageroar refugees continued to look down somberly, and Gutteral at least had the consolation of knowing that Rulfim had been honest so far. "So then one dwarf was down, and one of our own was down."

"Yes, boss. Ola got the one that had killed Zyrdax, but the last dwarf had a loaded pistol. She hadn't noticed."

"And that was the end for them both? Zyrdax and Ola?"

"They didn't even blink, Boss." One of the refugees moved, catching Gutteral's attention. It was a slight twitch of the hand; maybe it was a nervous reaction, or maybe it meant that Rulfim was embellishing his comrade's valor. That was a lie, however, that the Warsong orc could live with.

"Then there was that one dwarf left."

"I filled him with arrows. It took three shots, but I took the mongrel down." The prisoners of war grimaced at that remark, but their reaction meant nothing. "I pulled myself across the ground to Zyrdax and Ola, but I knew I couldn't help them. I..." Rulfim paused, falling silent and blank in his expression. His eyes darted to Murgrin's corpse again. "...couldn't save them. I found keys on one of the dwarves and let the Rageroar out, but I couldn't save our own. I'm sorry, boss."

Despite the silence that fell over the entire devastated fort, the tension was noticeably less than when Murgrin had been on trial. The mood was somber, especially on the part of Gutteral himself. In front of his squadron, he couldn't grieve; any such display could jeopardize the mystique that all commanders relied on to keep control. Forcing himself to ignore the sense of loss in his heart, he stiffened his lip and knelt down to see Rulfim at eye level.

"I forgive you."

Silence remained, and not even the chattier members of the lot murmured. Rulfim slowly looked up, the shine of a dead man still in his eyes. "You...do?" he asked in a voice that sounded too weary to be frightened anymore.

Swallowing any immature or base reactions that tempted him, Gutteral forced himself to wear his most solemn face. "Yes. You fulfilled a soldier's duty, as did Ola and Zyrdax. This is war; this is what we all prepare for. The crime was perpetrated by those grimy creatures, not you." He grasped Rulfim by the shoulder and touched foreheads with him. "May this experience make us all stronger."

Only when he stood again did he realize that the color had drained from the goblin's face, though Rulfim did breathe easier knowing that he wouldn't be put in the same category as the traitorous Tauren bleeding out into the ground. A noticeable amount of the suspense dissipated into the air, and he suddenly could see the fatigue from dehydration and battle wounds on his soldiers. They deserved to know what came next.

"Three days...we set up camp for three days. We burn wide smoke signals to all the region for three days. We issue challenges to all comers in the area for three days. We build a monument of bones to our victory for three days. We reveal ourselves to all the world for three days.

"We claim this land for the Horde. We claim it loudly and proudly because we were wronged, and we took our revenge. If we're left alone, we move on; if we're attacked, then we welcome all challengers no matter how much we're outnumbered. This is what is means to truly win; this is how the brave defend the honor of citizens. Only by so openly claiming this victory can it be real.

"But for now...we rest. Tend to the wounded and the refugees in the barracks; let the firm start repairs on the two story building and the gate. Prisoners can be put back where we found the Rageroar. Their dead will be collected to build our monument; our dead need proper burials."

The troops parted like wheat in a field as Gutteral walked toward the back of the area enclosed by the fort. There was a cliff visible through the back entrance which had been used as a flight point, and only his wolf followed him. He turned back to the troops one last time.

"Gnugs is in charge until dusk. Leave me to my thinking time until then."


	7. Chapter 7

Wrapped in a brand new cloak sewn from the skin of a captured Alliance stallion, Gutteral tossed another branch into the kindling. The bark crackled upon first contact with the flames, sending off little red flakes into the air and quickly catching alight. Subtle as to almost not be felt, a slight increase to the heat of the bonfire pushed forward, tickling the skin of his calloused knuckles. The way the flames rose over the mountains on the horizon, from his perspective, gave the impression of mountains of flame. The night air was cool, but under the warmth of the bonfire and his new cloak, he felt surprisingly warm.

Surprising because he was spending another night alone.

Behind the fort, on the cliff overlooking the valleys below, he'd made his vigil for the past three days and nights. His daylight hours were busy. The rations they'd pillaged from the fort were hard and preserved, and he'd limited the amount his troops could take in order to save for their inevitable return. Hunting and gathering parties were sent out on a rotating basis, and the preparation of food was time consuming. The repairs in the fort had been easy, but the burial of their dead had not due to the hard ground of the mountains. His troops had more rest than had they been marching or fighting, but there was no shortage of work to be done.

The evenings, however, were his. Nolash patrolled at night (she never seemed to sleep much anyway), allowing him time alone when his twelve hour shift of supervising work had finished. The members of his squadron knew not to interrupt his thinking time unless there was a very serious matter at hand; Kegth had learned the hard way on the first night, when he bothered Gutteral over a disputed game of cards and earned himself a kick in the ass so hard that he walked funny the next morning. He was alone, but he preferred to be at that time. Or that place. Or both.

On that last night, Gutteral pulled out a dearven muf of ale and walked over to the only two graves especially buried on the cliff. Pouring a bit of the drink on the ground before finishing the rest himself, he spoke out loud about his feelings for the first time.

"You did good, cousin," he said to one of the headstones as he fought to honor Zyrdax's desire for a brave death with his regret over allowing the youth to join such a small scouting party. He turned to the other grave and let a sad smile spread across his face. "Oh, Ola...I wished I'd slowed down. Maybe enjoyed the time a little more."

Memories of nights she'd spent in his tent while on the warpath came and went. She might have been a comrade in arms, but she'd also been the closest thing to a stable relationship he'd ever had, even if it had been a secret. He wondered for how long he'd remember the sound of her battle shout. The possibility of forgetting saddened him, and he tried to focus on the dancing flames.

The sound of shuffling feet cause him to grit his teeth. There was always the possibility that it could be something important, but he'd been hoping to spend their final night without response to their smoke signals in solitude.

The weight and gait of the undead reached his ears, and he paused for a moment. Not due to fear, for there were no more necromancers in the area since he'd cleared Runewood. It was more an issue of surprise seeing as how, despite his respect for their perseverance, he made a point never to bring any into his squadron. This was obviously a visitor.

The walking corpse waited for him to turn around, patient as only a being which never sleeps could be. The typical black robes signified that he was dealing with a member of the Forsaken's elites, but only when the figure saluted and pulled the hood away did he realize who it was.

"Nathanos Blightcaller, I presume?" the living orc asked.

The pallid human extended its (thankfully) gloved hand. "You are correct, Lieutenant Gar," it replied in an oddly clear, unwarped voice. "I'm flying in from Valdisdall."

Gutteral regarded his higher-ranking guest warily, but he tried to conceal his caution as best he could. "I assume you've come on official business."

"I have. After word spread, I decided to come for a visit myself."

"So word has spread?" Gutteral asked rhetorically. He motioned toward a few chairs he'd salvaged from the fort and left near the back wall. "Should we sit down?"

Nathanos showed no emotion. "I think we should," it replied dryly, causing a proverbial wave of apprehension to begin pooling around the raider's feet.

The two of them sat down, overlooking the valleys lit only by the stars, and then to the ocean beyond. Nathanos didn't waste time.

"I would have arrived earlier, but the political situation in Valdisdall required overtures to the Valarjar emissaries. They've worked hard to maintain order in their settlement."

"So this visit has been long in coming, then." Gutteral took the confiscated ale mug and set it down on the ground next to him, turning to face Nathanos. "You mustn't have come alone."

"Correct. I have a modest contingent of the Queensguard here," Nathanos replied in a similarly dry tone.

Fears of impending arrest whispered to the orc, pushing him to bluntness with a man who was, culturally and psychologically, human. "What's your verdict, then?" he asked.

Nathanos continued looking to the ocean beyond, speaking thoughtfully. "Oh...I don't suppose I would've done any different."

"Glad to hear that."

The undead man paused for the first time, his expression unreadable. He was obviously measuring his words carefully, which he technically didn't need to do when addressing a subordinate. His behavior was disconcerting.

"War is coming." When Gutteral didn't answer - couldn't answer - Nathanos continued. "This isn't the cause. It's a drop in the bucket with all the other border skirmishes going on, really."

"I take it that talk didn't center solely on what happened here?"

"Of course not," Nathanos replied tersely. "This was merely a conversation starter at the public forum in Valdisdall. The only enemies who remember the incident are those whose familial relations you've taken." Finally, the undead human turned to face him. "We have to take over here due to that, by the way, so consider your squad on recreational leave for the next ten days."

Though he didn't reveal his relief by audibly sighing, Gutteral did finally sink comfortably into his chair. "Thank you, sir."

"It's not merely benevolence. Negotiations for ransom for your prisoners will be easier if you, the big bad public enemy, aren't the one at the table."

At that, the orc's interest piqued. "Big bad public enemy?" he asked curiously. "Nobody has answered our smoke signals."

"No, but the gryphon rider who escaped here was also an artist. Your picture is up in Alliance towns; among all the other area officers, you've managed to gain hate aimed at you individually. Congratulations."

He didn't know if that was supposed to be a joke, but it was flattering nonetheless. "Thank you again. But I can't help but wonder...what happens next?"

Nathanos seemed as lost as he was. "I don't know. I really don't know. I can't deny that I've wanted this for a long time, but the removal of the Legion from the picture is a game changer. We're not longer fighting the Alliance with a wary eye on our backs and theirs. It's hard to say."

"Ah." Gutteral looked back to the ocean, wondering how he could correct his guest's answer without seeming rude. "And for my crew, in the immediate future? To where should we report?"

"Here's the rub. My whole purpose in coming here involves imparting information I was supposed to keep secret. So I'll tell you as much as I can, and you have to resist the urge to ask questions."

"I promise as long as the logistics for my crew is covered. Rations here at the fort are limited."

Nathanos chuckled as if the need for food and water was quaint to it. "Leave a fifth for the prisoners, take the rest with your squad and the Rageroar. They must resettle in another place."

"What place-" Gutteral caught himself and stopped. "Please, continue."

"Yes. Take what you have to Valdisdall. We have a Forsaken mage waiting for you and your mounts. They'll handle your passage to the destination." Nathanos waited as if testing the orc, most certainly testing his patience. "They'll have you to Suramar."

Gutteral raised a big green brow. "The dark elf city...interesting location."

Nathanos gave no outward reaction."Yes, quite," was all it would say before rising from its chair. "My troops don't sleep; yours do. You can retire now and take your leave in the morning. We'll handle the rest from here."

Standing and accepting the undead human's hand again, Gutteral was surprised again, this time at how short their meeting had been. Nathanos started walking back into the fort. "I'll leave the news delivery to you, Lieutenant," it said.

"I'll do that. Thanks for the assistance."

"Yes, alright then," the undead human replied. There was already a group of dark rangers lining the repaired walls of the fort, and Nathanos silently joined them, leaving him to his troops.

Beneath a monument of carved stone and impaled dwarven and human skulls on sticks, a group of soldiers and refugees chatted around a smaller campfire and watched the new undead guards curiously. They were the only ones who hadn't started preparing for sleep by then, alongside a handful of grunts who'd just been relieved of duty by the Forsaken. A few of them rose to salute their leader, but Gutteral waved for them to sit at ease.

"We're off duty as of now, and for the next ten days; Blightcaller's orders," he said.

Borba, who'd been among the group seated near the bone monument, raised one of their appropriated dwarven mugs as a toast and then gulped it down. "Nobody answered our challenge," she chuckled about their smoke signals. "Should we be relieved or disappointed?"

"Don't ask. I'm just glad to have a mission accomplished," Sprig said before turning back to their leader. "Boss, permission to spread the word?"

"Granted. Just be sure that everyone gets a good night's rest; we march to Valdisdall at dawn. Blightcaller has a portal mage waiting for us."

Kegth stood and tugged at his Horde tabard. "So, we're off-off? We can go sleep now?"

"Yes, we're officially off-duty. We'll still need to keep our wits about us during the march, but your time until the morning is yours."

"Thanks boss," Kegth said as he, Borba, and Sprig took their leave.

A few of the troops and refugees remained, saluting Gutteral anyway and settling in to stay up late chatting that night. They knew better than to try to offer him a chair or food, and he was able to take his own leave after merely giving orders. Distance was part of his leadership style, and the members of his squadron understood that well.

Unfortunately for him, the Rageroar refugees weren't members of his squadron, and they didn't understand his leadership style. At some point between the bone monument and the back entrance of the fort, he felt eyes upon him. His sixth-sense for being watched had saved him a number of times, but in this instance, it doomed him; had he continued walking, he likely would have been left to his own devices.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a disheveled ragamuffin following him with nervous steps. Her face pensively scrunched up, Koleg, the damsel in distress who'd first sought their aid, was staring at him. She'd stopped walking when he stopped, and her expression gave him the impression that she feared him. Gutteral could already sense what was coming, and he felt himself groan in exasperation.

"Your people are under our protection until we reach friendly territory," he said wearily. "I'll see to it that you're all granted safe passage-"

"I'm sorry," Koleg said in a wavering voice.

Irritated that she'd interrupted him, he turned to face her and noticed the way her hands shook. When her chin dimpled, he almost facepalmed.

"Everything is fine, Miss Mar-"

"I'm sorry!" she repeated, though this time her throat constricted. She began sniffling already like a big kid, and he didn't hide his sigh.

He didn't want to drag out the civilian's lamenting any more than he needed to, but peons were naturally apoplectic and neurotic. He guessed that he wasn't likely to end the conversation so easily. "Look, ma'am, there's nothing to be sorry for. We were doing our jobs; you owe us nothing except obedience during states of emergency. Now..."

The moment he paused to inhale, the waterworks began. "It's all my fault, mister Gar," she whimpered in her low-class, low-education accent. "If I didn't come find you, then none of this would have happened!"

"Ma'am."

"I'm sorry for finding you and dragging your squad into this!"

"It's alright, Ma'am."

"This was all my fault!"

"Koleg," he said with the bass in his voice deeper than usual. She jumped as if he'd strike her. "If those creatures hadn't attacked your friends and family, then you wouldn't have needed our help anyway. Don't blame yourself for their crimes."

Her wide, watery eyes blinked at him as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. He figured that it was sinking in when the ugly crying face she'd been making started to disappear, though tears continued to fall. "But I'm sorry, mister Gar."

"It's fine. Go back to your friends."

"I wish your cousin didn't get killed and all that other stuff too!"

Then why are you reminding me? Gutteral thought angrily while gritting his teeth. She was seriously testing his patience; only knowledge of her simple nature pushed him to hold back.

"I forgive you," he sighed, temporarily staving off the tears though not the fearful way she looked at him. "Go back to your friends, now. Rest until the morning."

Big eyes stared up at him, childlike, as she calmed down a bit. As silly as it was for her to blame herself, he supposed that there were few other reactions he could expect from a bumpkin who likely viewed the world in black and white terms. He was too annoyed to pity her, but he did envy her uncomplicated outlook.

Still emotional, she nodded and seemed to get the idea. "Oh...okay mister Gar," she replied as she scurried off.

He watched her as she left just to be sure that she'd actually leave him alone, and he was thankful when she did walk all the way back to her group of friends.

Among them was another Rageroar peon, a similarly unrefined character who was the woman's fiancé. Both of them were so rural that their shoes consisted of burlap sacks sewn into the shape of feet; the sort of people whom all orcs of the battlefield were embarrassed of in front of their comrades from other races. Yet there was something so quaint about the two of them that Gutteral couldn't help but observe for another moment.

Short and flabby like Koleg was, the fiancé gazed upon her with a twinkle in his eye while she approached. Away from the others, he clasped her hands as they shared a few words about a sullied ring she was wearing. Forged from impure pewter, the object couldn't have cost more than a few copper coins to buy, and to notice it was even difficult considering the drab, plain outfit she was wearing. That didn't bother either of the two peons, however, and the fiancé held her finger daintily as if both it and the woman it was attached to were made of solid gold.

To see the love in their eyes over a gift so minuscule, so simple and uncomplicated, moved something in the grizzled raider's heart. The young laborer didn't look anything like Gutteral, or sound like him, or think like him, or act like him. There was no similarity in them as people. The situation, though - the place, the chain of events - reminded Gutteral of another time. A simpler time. A time he couldn't go back to, a time long forgotten in the internment camps of the Eastern Kingdoms. A time when he, as a little boy, would have been just as happy to see the look in a little girl's eyes when he handed her a gift whose value wasn't monetary. He never really thought of or cared about his past, especially a period which had no effect on his personality as an adult, so the memories in his head struck him as odd. It wasn't like him.

Smirking at himself, he shook his head and walked away, disappearing out the back of the fort. He had until the morning to be by himself, and he didn't need to waste it pondering the meaning of life or what could have been. Instead, he pulled the chair back to the two cliffside graves and sat a little bit longer. The valleys, then the mountains, then the waves all beckoned him, not to explore them but simply to enjoy being in the world, being alive, surviving, until he would be confined to another noisy urban area for an indeterminate amount of time again. Such was the life of a mid-ranking military officer.

He pulled his new cloak a little more tightly around himself, finally feeling the chill of the evening. At his feet, the graves of his cousin laid on one side and that of his lover on another. They were also cold; there was no spiritual inspiration to heat his bones, no sudden realization based on past experience with them. They were in the past, and that was that. He had memories with him, but those graves bore nothing for him other than one last night of mourning.

Slowly, Gutteral pulled a few branches from a nearby bush and laid them in his own bonfire on the cliff. Embers broke off from the bark as the fire consumed them, allowing little red flakes to float and dance in the air. Another wave of the fire's heat reached him, eliminating any chill.

That was real, that fire. Those cinders. Even if he'd lost people, he was still just a part of nature, like every other lying person trying to convince themselves otherwise. He was sad that night, and would be sad for a while, but life goes on; life, in the present, was what was real to him. And on that night, holding his hand near the embers, all he wanted to do was seek warmth, and be thankful that he'd been granted just a bit more time on Azeroth to feel it.


End file.
